


With Weapon in Hand

by Kartaylir



Category: Divinity: Original Sin (Video Games)
Genre: Enemies to Lovers - A has conflicting feelings while B tenderly treats his/her injuries, F/M, Huddling For Warmth, Touch-starved enemies forced to huddle for warmth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 07:29:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28881735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kartaylir/pseuds/Kartaylir
Summary: Sebille has never been one to accept kindness easily, let alone from a Prince of the Empire that once enslaved her.
Relationships: The Red Prince/Sebille
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10
Collections: Bulletproof 20/21





	With Weapon in Hand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vendettadays](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vendettadays/gifts).



Sebille had already lost track of how many times she’d contemplated killing the Red Prince. It would be a challenge, true, for he had stripped a dented breastplate from the guards they’d slaughtered and tightened it around his chest so it fit snugly over his scales. 

Still, it had no gorget to cover his throat. All she needed was for him to get close enough, for the needle she carried with her to go through an eye, the back of his mouth, the scales of his throat.

“That wound needs treating,” he said, his voice resonant with a particular flavor of arrogance she’d heard so often from the Lizards who’d enslaved her. And yet there was something behind it as well, something in the way he held himself so stiffly. As if his pride was wounded by whatever had led to his capture, to the collar that still floated around his neck in a mirror of hers.

That he still possessed such pride was another temptation to slay him.

She bared her teeth as he stepped toward her, raised an arm etched with the names of those she’d slain. Her hand shook as she saw the potion he held, and she then folded her arms across her chest and leaned back against the cold stone of the cave.

Too cold. She shivered then, glanced at the opening to the wind-swept beach, then flinched as his hand pressed the potion against her side and the gaping wound.

For all of his swiftness his touch was gentle, his scales warm and dry. She snarled again but adjusted her crossed arms so as to allow him better access nonetheless.

He, for his part, wiped the blood away from what remained of her armor, then tore a strip of cloth loose to bind the wound. Sebille bit her lip and glared at him with that, though it hurt little enough. It’d have been easier otherwise, to find in the pain more cause to hate him.

“I’m not some prize for you to patch up and haul back to your kin,” she said, and spit the blood forth onto the sandy floor.

“Must I explain the definition of ‘exile’?” His hand ran down over the covered wound, and she saw a glint of magic following, as if to leave the wound armored as well as bandaged.

She shivered again, and tested her hands lest she begin to mistrust how swiftly she could reach her needle. They shook less with the wound bound, but still-

“None of us would escape purely on our own,” he said, as if knowing her thoughts. Or his; had he heard something of her before, despite the secret she’d been?

She pulled her arms in for warmth and cursed the cold air.

“Or if we freeze,” he said. With a breath he blew the dampened logs to fire, though there were not enough of them to last long. He then sat down on her uninjured side, the heat of his body radiating through his armor. A harder side to reach, if she needed to. 

If.

But he was warm, and more so when he draped the fragments of his cloak over her shoulder. Easier to conceal her weapon, then, hidden in her hand as she leaned against him. The Red Prince shifted in turn, so that she could rest against his shoulder and the straps that held the armor in place, rather than the metal that’d grow cold again so quickly. It had been so long since she’d had even this small contact with someone else, and it was so easy to both resent and need it as she stared toward him.

The light of the fire glinted off of his scales, orange and yellow as the flames faded. He looked to Sebille then, his gaze sharp and yet somehow inscrutable, perhaps a distant evaluation of the battles to come. He’d been a general, he had said, with a sense of repetition as if such words were one more barrier against humiliation.

He brushed her cheek as he adjusted the cloak around her shoulders, and her grip tightened around her needle until its sharp edge cut into her hand. So close, almost vulnerable enough, and yet where would that leave her save with another name for her wrist?

There were other techniques for dealing with her enemies. So instead she caught his chin with his fingers, and dismissed most of the sharp words that came to mind. “You can keep me warmer than that.”

It was not her most graceful kiss, around the sharp edges of his teeth, the unfamiliar shape of his mouth. More with tongue than lips, and yet a kiss nonetheless.

Perhaps, she told herself, there was something to be learned from it.


End file.
